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Getting Back in the Driver’s Seat of My Life

posted 13th March 2012    Written by: Caitlin    CATEGORY: Caiti, Job/Career/Work, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 6

Introducing: Caiti

“I was living a life that wasn’t mine. It was society’s. The expectations and opinions of certain influential people around me. Fear-avoidance. I had become a passenger in my life, simply along for the ride instead of owning it.”

I don’t know why most of my emotional breakdowns occur while driving my car. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m in charge of 3000 pounds of metal and mechanics that have the power to potentially kill me if mishandled, yet I barely feel like I’m in the driver’s seat for my own life.

My subconscious can’t seem to handle the irony.

Until recently, I have been a “by the books” kind of girl. Midwestern born and bred. Top of my high school class. A scholarship to my first choice college (University of Missouri), where I majored in something that seemed practical and responsible (journalism/strategic communications). I fell in love, attended grad school, got engaged the very day I finished my Master’s degree, and promptly moved in with my mister. How about a job related to my major? Planning a wedding and getting married? Buying a condo? Moving on to jobs #2-3, complete with a nice salary bump? Check, check, check and CHECK. On the road of life, I was cruising along and passing all the major milestones right on cue.

Here I was, with everything I want–scratch that–with everything I thought I should want, yet I only felt numb. An incredible amount of time was spent glassy-eyed, zoned out of the world around me. It was all I could do to get through the days without crumbling into a pile of flesh and tears. Work was a blur of time bookended by forced morning conversation at the coffee maker and counting down to 5:00. The major I chose in college for its practicality led me to an industry that was slowly suffocating me with its sea of gray cubicles, florescent lights, and people who seemed all too comfortable with the status quo. Even the parts of my life I claimed to love– my relationship with my husband and my friendships– were just shrug-my-shoulders fine.

During the long drive home from work on a day much like every other, I had to brake quickly in the stop-and-go traffic, a completely routine annoyance. But for a moment, the fog lifted. I looked out the windshield over my white knuckles gripping the wheel and saw the highway in front of me for what seemed like the first time that day, that week, that month. How did I get here?

No, really, how did I get here?

Had my life really turned into a series of beige blurs between Point A and Point B, stopping only to check the box next to each “accomplishment” on the List of Things to Achieve to Have a Solid & Stable Life? Wait, who the hell wrote that list anyways? It surely wasn’t me. Where were the check boxes for passion, for the people who are so smart and funny and creative it makes my heart hurt, for the projects I could get lost in for days? Where was the adventure and traveling and learning about the world?

I was living a life that wasn’t mine. It was society’s. The expectations and opinions of certain influential people around me. Fear-avoidance. I had become a passenger in my life, simply along for the ride instead of owning it.

My quarterlife crisis in a nutshell: I can’t keep living half alive.

After enough stress to cause an ulcer ten times over, I made the one change that was weighing on me most heavily. I quit my job. With no plan. With no real idea of what I want to do professionally. But somehow, in the process of grabbing the wheel, I’ve been able to start to steer myself down a new road that doesn’t seem so bleak. Within the first month of this year, opportunities that seemed like pipe dreams have lit me up– from the chance to feature my artwork in a magazine to steadily growing my blog.

And in a crazy turn of events, my life will literally be hitting the road as my husband and I relocate to Dublin, Ireland, through October.

It’s time to feel alive again, to feel the fire burning in my belly for my work, relationships, and new experiences. My “by the books” life will become a life worth writing about, and I can’t wait.

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Stratejoy Essay Contest – Finalist #12 – Deanna Ogle

posted 16th February 2012    Written by: Stratejoy    CATEGORY: All Posts, Guest Post Rockstar

*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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A thousand tiny mirrors were flickering at me. The silver-dollar sized mirrors were connected to clear wires hanging from the ceiling in the lobby of the Detroit Institute of Art. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a stadium and hundreds of cameras were going off all around me.

“I feel like I’m in the middle of something huge.”

I hadn’t said anything out loud to my boyfriend, Steve, who was sitting next to me. His hand was resting on my leg that had been bouncing while I was busy staring.

“Oh, sorry for my leg. I just—”“I know. It’s okay. You were bouncing your leg because you think [the mirrors] are beautiful.”

Steve and I had only been dating for two months when we decided to take this day trip to the D.I.A. Even in the infancy of our relationship I knew something about him was different but it wasn’t until that moment when I figured out what it was: he knew me. Steve innately knew things about me that I wasn’t even aware I was communicating. I didn’t have to spell it out for him; he just picked up on what I was feeling.

Fast forward three months. After traipsing all across the county to find a power adapter for my upcoming trip to Holland, we sat victorious in my car in the parking lot of the mall across town. We had been talking for about ten minutes when the conversation came to a lull. I glanced over
at Steve when I saw his lips twitch.

“I saw your lips twitch. What were you going to say?”

“Oh. You weren’t supposed to see that…”

“Well, what were you going to say?”

“I was going to wait until you came back from Holland before telling you this but… I love you.”

My heart burst to pieces. “I love you, too.”

I was crazy about him. The time I spent with him was full of bliss. I was completely myself when I was around him. He expanded my horizons, laughed at my dumb puns, and we communicated more openly than anyone else. He made me laugh more than almost anyone I knew and every time I left our Friday lunch dates I felt like we had so much still to talk about.

Three weeks later we decided that we wanted to get married. But there was one problem: I looked crazy to my family. Not only did this decision seem sudden but I was young for wanting to get married and Steve was a bit older than me. This threw my relationship with my family into chaos. But I love him. I tried to explain, they tried to listen, but somewhere ours words got lost.

Their reaction confused me and made me doubt myself. My family and I fought constantly for the next year. Wrestle, fight, cry, wrestle some more. They couldn’t see this incredible person who had stolen my heart and had shown me a new love that I didn’t know even know existed. All they could see was a guy they didn’t like who didn’t like to eat his corn mixed with other food and who didn’t ask to help my mom in the kitchen.

The doubt consumed me. I felt like I was being pressured to choose either him or my family. Eventually, I became too tired and I succumbed to the pressure.

I broke up with Steve in April.

After much crying and talking he and I decided to not talk for the next month to clear our heads.

The first thing I had to deal with after the breakup was that my schedule was glaringly empty since we weren’t eating chicken and rice dinners or watching “Lost” together most evenings.

After class one day I got the urge to text Steve about my conspiracy theory-riddled accounting professor before I was reminded about the silent rule. I tried quoting Mitch Hedburg (our favorite comedian to quote to each other) to my other friends but they just gave me blank looks.

My relationship with my family was hanging by a thread, I no longer had a boyfriend, and school was out. I could go anywhere. I could move to Alaska, I could go to school in Texas. I could be a bird, I could fly a plane! What did I want to do? What, in my heart of hearts, did I actually want?

At the end of the month I watched an episode of the TV show “Fringe” where the main character has a brush with death. At the end of the episode he went home and crawled in bed with his wife. She, being blissfully asleep, had no idea what happened. He pulled her close and fell asleep.

That episode hit me like a cold sandwich to the face. Even with the opportunity to find a new life, I still wanted Steve to be the guy I crawled into bed with in my future. He had my heart. He was what I wanted.

We got back together and a year and a half later we were married in a maritime museum overlooking the Detroit River. By the time the wedding rolled around my family started to see what I saw in Steve. It still wasn’t easy with them, and I fought tooth and nail through the months prior to my wedding, but the difference this time was that I knew exactly what I wanted and who I wanted to be with.

The way I live life on my own terms is by fighting for what (and who) I love. It wasn’t easy, but after being happily married for two years and counting, I wouldn’t exchange my life for anything. Because when I roll over in the middle of the night after a bad dream and find Steve’s warm skin next to mine, it reminds me that it was all worth it.

 

 

Deanna Ogle (@deannaogle) is a writer and web designer from the greater Detroit area where she works at a small software firm.

A few of her favorite things are carnations, hair dye, peanut butter, and bluegrass.

When she is not working she can usually be found curled up with her husband watching movies.

She blogs at Soul like a Spider and writes for Provoketive Magazine.

 

 

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*This post is an entry in the 1st Annual Stratejoy Essay Contest.  Each day throughout the month of February, we will be featuring one of the 20 finalists writing their answer to the question: How do you live life on your own terms? On February 29th, we will open the voting to YOU, our community, to select the winner of the $500 prize.*

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Life Imitates Yoga Class

posted 7th February 2012    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure, What I've Learned

I remember the day my hamstrings loosened. I have kind of a terrible memory, so naturally I don’t recall the exact date. But oh, the feeling. I was in a yoga class last summer, about five or six months after my teacher training began. As I moved into parsvottanasana – a forward bend that makes me want to punch things challenges me – I noticed that something felt different. That day, my hamstrings didn’t scream quite so much as they had been for months prior. That day, there was space to go a little deeper. I inhaled, straightening and lengthening my spine. I exhaled, folding forward just a little more than I ever had before. It might only have been one-quarter or one-half of an inch, but there it was. Something had shifted, and I was present, breathing, noticing.

Now I have a confession: I didn’t accomplish any of the goals I set for myself way back when in my third post.

In my first few drafts of this post, I wrote an explanation here about why I didn’t complete them. But you know what?

It doesn’t matter.

I wasn’t ready.

Am I now? I think so.

Five months after the beginning of my Stratejoy journey, I’m getting that same feeling in my life as I did with my hamstrings last summer. There’s space now. Things are shifting.

* * * * *

Five months. 15 countries (including the United States and Canada). 37 beds, couches, futons, armchairs, air mattresses, and uncomfortable, questionably clean train seats. Thousands of photographs.

Have I changed? Good lord, yes.

How have I changed? That’s…more involved.

There are the obvious things, of course. I’m no longer working a 9-5 job. I no longer live in Brooklyn; my residence is still transient. I’ve put on weight. I drink coffee now, and I don’t spend as much time on the internet. I no longer hit snooze ten times when Joan Jett yells, “I don’t give a damn ’bout my bad reputation!” in my ear.

The more subtle stuff is harder to nail. Some days, I still feel stuck in the same patterns in which I’ve found myself for years. Other days, I feel like a new person. I frequently find myself feeling so fucking grateful for people, places, and moments that I want to explode with joy. I’m more at peace; I’ve shaken that stressed-out-hurry-hurry-frequently-annoyed attitude that I picked up during my six years in NYC. And overall, I’m feeling truly empowered and happy. I’m sure that there are other things, but those are the ones that I’ve figured out how to verbalize so far.

It seems that the nomadic lifestyle mostly works for me.

* * * * *

While preparing to write this, I took a look at my values from The Joy Equation, which I mentioned in my second post.

Connection. Bliss. Abundance. Trust. Adventure. Courage. Magic. Strength. Without even planning it, I’ve ended up posting about each of those over the past five months. I love when it’s suddenly clear that I’m on the right track, even when I hadn’t been planning every detail.

Seeing in concrete terms that I’m now living my core values feels really fucking amazing.

* * * * *

Though my time writing in this space ends with this post, my journey will continue. Today I’m on a flight back to New York. That was definitely not part of the original plan – but then again, neither was staying in Europe until February. I wanted time for yoga, tattoos, my favorite foods, and friends and family.

And then: Australia. I’m sad to leave Europe, and at the same time, I’m ready to develop a routine again. I’m excited to meet Kate and other new friends, and pumped to start teaching yoga again. I’m gearing up for summer, kickboxing classes, and maybe learning how to surf!

I hope you’ll continue following my adventure:

twitter: shinyredtype
facebook: pierced hearts and true love
blog: piercedheartsandtruelove.com
yoga teaching schedule: katselvocki.com

Thank you all for being a part of my QLC! And as Edward Abbey wrote, “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.”

[photo credit: my friend and travel buddy, Jenni]

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Sex and the Zerbert Test

posted 19th January 2012    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Love/Relationships, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure

My friend Rebecca* and I decided that we’re going to implement a new test to determine whether we should be dating someone. The name of the test is still in the works, but that doesn’t matter. The point is that we think it’s going to be really useful.

It’s a simple test, really. All you have to do is give someone a zerbert (or raspberry – you know, where you put your mouth against their arm or belly and blow, and it makes a funny sound) and see how they react. Because let’s be honest: if someone can’t handle a zerbert, they’re not cut out for a long-term relationship, at least not one with Rebecca or me.

I haven’t decided at what point I will perform the test, though I suppose I’ll know when the situation arises. It doesn’t seem like first date material; however, I can’t remember the last time I had a typical first date, so maybe it could be. I could ask the basic questions – job (He should have one, and possibly like it.), last book he read (It needs to be something more recent than The Very Hungry Caterpillar, unless he spends a lot of time around two-year-olds.), favorite place he’s traveled (If he doesn’t travel, he gets the boot.), how often he calls his mom (Three times a day is not an acceptable answer.) – and follow them up with a zerbert.

…okay, maybe I should come up with an alternate plan.

I think the most practical application for me will be in bed. Now, naturally, I don’t want to have sex with someone before performing the zerbert test. If they can’t handle a zerbert, why would I want to go all the way with them? I’m thinking that perhaps the first time we find ourselves moving in that direction, I’ll lift up my date’s shirt and attack his belly. If he laughs, we can get it on. If he stares at me like I have three heads, I’ll have to hightail it out of that situation. Because if he thinks that’s weird, he probably won’t be able to cope with my penchant for having Spice Girls dance parties while I cook.

You see what I mean? It’s the perfect test.

This whole conversation started because over the course of my travels, I slept with someone new. Now, I tend to keep this sort of thing to myself – or at least a limited group of close friends, because let’s be honest, we all love talking about sex. I wanted to talk about this hookup in particular because, over the course of analyzing every detail, I realized something: I hadn’t enjoyed myself in bed that much since…2005? 2006?

Over years of worrying whether I look good enough naked, or being pushed away by my ex, or hooking up with inappropriate men, I forgot how much fun sex could be. I forgot what it was like to spend the day in bed wrapped up in each other. I forgot the electricity that can happen when a guy runs his fingers up my arms with fingertips barely grazing my skin. I forgot how good it can feel to get into a tickle war and shriek and laugh. I forgot that we can be silly in bed and that it doesn’t have to be so serious.

I think this guy would have passed the zerbert test.

Now, I do see one flaw with this new plan: someone could pass and still not be a good long-term partner for me. I’ll still have to ask those first (and second and third) date questions, think about whether he’d be a good father to our potential future children, know that he doesn’t hate my tattoos, and so on.

Chemistry and silliness – and the ability to appreciate the unexpected – are good steps in the right direction, though.

*Name has been changed!

[photo credit: me!]

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I Am Strong, Capable, and Beautiful

posted 15th January 2012    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Kat, Life Lesson, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5, Travel, Travel/Adventure, What I've Learned

There are a few things that I wish I’d known before I started traveling. The first, of course, is about the disconnect that I wrote about recently; apparently, that’s not an uncommon phenomenon. The second is that I wish someone had told me that I was going to put on weight.

Six months ago, I was probably in the best shape of my life. I was doing yoga regularly, drinking plenty of water and rarely consuming alcohol, and eating foods in response to my body’s needs (plenty of fruits and vegetables, protein as I craved it, no dairy or gluten). I’d finally dropped weight that hadn’t wanted to go, and I felt good in my own skin for the first time in years.

Once I got on the road, though, it was hard to maintain this routine. I haven’t been able to find (m)any yoga classes that I like as much as the ones at my old studio in New York, and it’s been hard to practice at home since I’ve been sharing a room. Though I’ve done my best to eat reasonably healthy food, I also tend to stick with the diets in the places I’m staying – and especially at the farms, that’s meant a lot of bread. (And when it’s not at the farms, it’s meant a lot of meat, especially in Central Europe. My love for that region knows no bounds, but cucumber and tomato – out of season, no less – do not a salad make.) I often haven’t been drinking enough water; I don’t relish using the bathrooms on overnight trains, for one.

The point of all of this is that when I recently saw myself in a full-length mirror for the first time in a few months, it was HARD. It’s tough to write that, because I feel absurd for even thinking it. The fact of the matter is, though, that I have a challenging time seeing myself as attractive.

I’m able to look at things rationally and see that my body is strong and capable. I can do yoga. I ran a 5K in June without training for it, and I was really happy with my time. I walk all over the damn place, including to the top of clock towers and such – even though I’m afraid of heights. I’m learning to play lacrosse because I might be competing in a tournament in Budapest – just because I can. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to look at myself and say that I’m beautiful, though, and putting back on weight that I lost a year ago doesn’t help.

In yoga, we talk about saṃskāras, or mental and emotions patterns. I like to picture them as the squiggly ridges on my brain, each groove representing a thought pattern that I developed over time. This one about beauty is very much present and accounted for, though I have no idea where it began. All I know is that it’s been reinforced over years of ex-boyfriends pointing out “flaws” in my body, of seemingly not being noticed by the men I find attractive, of constantly telling myself over and over that I’m not pretty enough.

It’s an awful way to exist.

I realized something important as I looked into the full-length mirror a few weeks ago. As I saw myself standing there, extra pounds and all, I finally understood the yogic practice of ahimsa. It’s often translated as non-violence, and it’s the reason why many yogis don’t eat meat. I’ve also heard it translated as compassion, though, and that day, something clicked. I’d always thought about compassion being directed externally – be kind to others, etc. – and then it hit me: practicing compassion needs to be internal, too. It seems like a simple thing, and yet, it’s really not, at least for me. How can I be a compassionate person when every day, I tell myself that I’m unattractive or not enough? How is it okay to look at my body and think horrible thoughts about my appearance?

So, here it goes: I am strong, capable, and beautiful.

Writing that feels difficult and vulnerable. It’s hard to read, and even tougher to believe. But you know what? I can’t keep telling myself awful things and expecting others to see me differently, though. Changing this thought pattern needs to start with me, right now.

How can you treat yourself with greater compassion?

[photo credit: me!]

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